I’ve had this done for months, but originally I wanted to do an epic follower post with tons of fics. That seems like it might happen eventually, but until it does, here’s the next part of utter angst.
“Explaincomplication to me,” Gar makes it slow, mentally already preparing himself for news bad enough to make their SB look this wrecked.
“He…he’s missing some memory,” Bart glances through the glass where their Robin is deeply asleep after being in a coma for a week. “He thinks he’s still, you know, the otherRobin.”
Raven’s spine straightens and her eyes move to the sleeping vigilante as well, “we need to get him to a real doctor immediately. The Tower can give us reports, his vitals, but none of us are medically trained enough to deal with an injury of his magnitude. We need to know if he shall recover or not.”
“You want to tell Grayson,” Kon rubs the bridge of his nose. “Tim wouldn’t want that.”
“Well,” Cassie is biting on her lower lip, “if he’s really lost his memory of the last few years…he actually might.”
“We know Leslie Thompkins, and that’s who they would take him to anyway. We can call her directly.” Bart shrugs, trying to make it look careless.
“Whoa, whoa, okay. Let’s all just calm down and think about this,” Gar puts up a hand, before the YJ trio starts to come back at him, “because Rave is right, and getting someone qualified here to check out Tim, who is now the worst trope we’ve ever had to deal with, is priority one. We don’t know if he’s, you know, gonna get his memory back, or if we’ve got a teenage Rob to deal with. Like, permanently. Or…until he grows…up?” His hands waffle back and forth at how to really explain it.
“What Gar is trying to say,” Raven sighs, cape fluttering as she crosses her arms, “is that we are out of our depth, and any delay on our part could hinder Tim’s recovery, in whatever form that may take.”
“We want the best for him, too,” Gar cuts in, taking some of the tension from Kon’s shoulders and Bart’s back. “But if he’s that far back, then our bud is absolutely going to ask for Dick or Bats eventually. We’ll have to lie to him to keep him here, even if that’s what he wanted before the accident. But, like, it’s still Tim, and he’s going to sniff it out of us in a hot minute. So, how are we supposed to handle that?”
The silence is deafening, but Kon still hears it, the steady rhythm thrumming in his best friend’s chest, not the half-stutter a split second before the gun–
“We tell him the truth.” Is what spills out of his mouth. “We tell him he isn’t that Rob anymore, but he’s still our Rob. We tell him he’d want to stay with us for a while instead of in Gotham.”
“What do we say when he asks why, Kon?” Cassie pleads, eyes going to the bed and back. “Are we going to tell him about the League of Assassins and Batman getting lost in time and–”
“He’s still a detective, dude,” Gar throws in, “if he wants to find out bad enough, he will. Pretty much Batman, right?”
“It’ll be better in the long run if we tell him up front.” Bart shrugs, “ask him to stay until he’s looked through all his own hidden files from the last year before he goes anywhere near Gotham. Then, be there for whatever the fallout might be.”
Realistically, at this juncture in Tim’s vigilante career, he still believes in Grayson, in Gotham, in what he thinks the Bats stood for. Telling him what they knew, then sending him off to find out the gritty details is going to be the worst part – the eventual spiral just waiting to happen.
Bart and Kon exchange a knowing look between them while Gar does the same with Raven, and it looks like the division is pretty equal. Someone is going to have to be the tie-breaker.
Cassie rubs at the tension headache starting behind her right eye, staring through the glass like Tim’s lax body could give her the real right answer here. At this time of his life, what he can access of his memories, would tell him Bruce and Dick would be the best option, but the Tim she’s known the last few years would rather lose another semi-important body part than go near Wayne Manor.
The answer really should have been what would be best for him to recover but the nagging part is asking what Tim would want once he gets his memory back.
(If he ever does…and honestly, he might be happier this way.)
“Before we make any choices,” Kon’s voice is soft and hesitant, his arms folding over his chest, hands gripping hard into his own biceps, “there’s something I should tell everyone. It’s…not going to be easy to hear, but I think it might help make this decision.”
**
A few days after the unsettling video chat with Titan’s Tower, a messenger brings a letter to Wayne Manor.
B doesn’t open it right away, not recognizing the return address on the front. He’s busy on the phone with Diana, trying to get her to talk to Cassie so he can at least get some footage, some vitals, some scans, some part of the backstory, anything to indicate why Tim is apparently in a coma.
He doesn’t even remember the letter until Jay is stomping through the door of the Manor, looking pale, almost sick.
Neither Bruce or Alfred get in a word when a box is thrown at their feet, red and black Kevlar spilling out, the hint of a metal bandolier.
“Why the fuck would he send that, B? What the motherfuck–”
“Master Jason,” Alfred gives Bruce a pointed look and steps closer to the younger vigilante’s side, “perhaps a bit of tea is in order, and we can look at the evidence with a clear head and warm belly.”
“Alf,” and it’s there in those blue eyes, a helluva lot of guilt.
“Come then, Young Sir. You will help put the kettle on, won’t you?”
Bruce kneels to take a closer look at the box as Alfred leads Jay toward the kitchen, listening to the soft back-and-forth while he gingerly pulls what’s apparently the Red Robin suit spilling out of the box.
Since he really is the World’s Greatest Detective, Bruce looks the suit over critically for any tears or bullet holes, any other indication the suit had been tampered with. Some reason why it was sent to the Red Hood.
(Instead of to him, B thinks a little desperately.)
Some hidden message.
The note flutters to his feet from the folds of leather and Kevlar, and something in his stomach starts to turn on pure instinct. Tim in a coma, his suit sent to Jason, the Titans dodgy about what happened. None of the evidence was adding up to anything other than a catastrophe.
Jason,
You were right. It never should have been me after all.
T
The scrawl is familiar, the swoop of the g and straight edges making up the final T.
The note is gently put down on his desk for later analysis even though he knows Tim’s handwriting like he knows his own. He quickly searches the suit, utility belt, harness, gloves, and the cape/cowl combo–
(no gauntlets, no wrist computer.)
He finds worn spots in the over-armor from fists and weapons, marks on the leather from gauntlets, bullets, and blades, the cowl patched on half of the face protector.
Utility belt has some dents and dings, but is still polished and buffed, a few hinges obviously fixed based on the nearly imperceptible scratches between the sections. The harness has taken the worst of the beating, and Bruce has to wonder if it was from Tim…or Jason.
While voices come from the kitchen and the kettle finally whistles through the hall, Bruce makes his way back to his desk, sitting down heavily with the suit laying in his hands, the detective trying to find something he may have overlooked, a clue in the suit that could give him answers he can’t get from hacking Tim’s own system–
(his last notes made in the Batcomputer were more than a year old, something about Ra’s and research on artifacts Bruce had left through the timestream hoping his Robin would find them, wouldn’t give up on him)
–when he glances up at the white envelope still there from earlier where he’d carelessly tossed it.
He lays the suit over his lap, takes up the envelope with footsteps approaching. That nagging feeling doesn’t go away when he splits it open. Inside a sheaf of paperwork, standard introductory letter, and a…key?
His eyes skim the essentials while Alfred lays the tea tray down, humming at whatever Jay is saying while he serves. And just like he’d never been away, like all those years hadn’t existed, Jason Todd comes around his desk and plants his ass on the immaculate surface of the desk beside Bruce with no second-guessing. Sits there with his palms curled around the worn edges, feet idly swinging a lot closer to the ground than back when he was fifteen and the most adorable punk kid Bruce had ever met.
The swoop of his hair and hard edges of his jaw, the wider set of shoulders and chest, all of that gets hazy in Bruce’s eye for a long, bittersweet moment when he can look back on the early years and see the same kid with a chip on his shoulder and so much heart sitting in the same spot. For Jay to come back to the Manor, to sit in this place so he can look at both Bruce and Alfred from his vantage point, is wonderfully nostalgic, and Bruce might just have a half-smile on his face instead of concentrating on what his second son is saying.
“Came ta the one nice place I got in Gotham, ya feel me here? Ain’t nobody got those deets, not Dickie, not Kory n’ Roy.”
Bruce is shaken from his nostalgia when Alfred offers him the first cup and saucer. He has to empty his hands of the paperwork to accept, take a sip before interjecting, “you mean the loft apartment in Mid-Town? The one off 48th and Grand? Third floor, three bedrooms, two baths?”
It’s enough to see Jay’s jaw abruptly shut and those eyes narrow down at B’s half-smirk.
“All right, wise ass. Suppose it ain’t that hard ta figure.” The pout, lower lip sticking out, makes his heart even warmer, a needed distraction when he’s been worried about Tim since the talk with the Titans.
“Tim’s a detective, Jay, just like the rest of you.” Bruce wiggles a brow while he takes another sip, watching his former Robin chuff back.
“Don’t ‘splain what th’ hell he means, B. Never said a word ta that lil’ asshole ‘bout being Red Robin. He was outta Gotham more n’ he was in what when he was in that name. S’ pretty sure he was gonna keep this one anyhow.”
“Perhaps Master Tim,” Alfred interjects gently from his other side, “has taken some of your…less than generous criticisms to heart, Master Jason.”
Jason’s eyes grow shuddered, his jaw tightening. “I know I said some shit ta that kid inna past, Alf. Alla that shit was about the R.”
“And how would Master Timothy know things have changed, young sir? Considering the Red Robin moniker was also once yours and Master Dick’s, it would be a logical conclusion.”
“So…so’s he just…givin’ it up?” Jason looks up at B and Alf, eyebrows squished together.
“Apparently,” B sips his tea again.
The guilt is there in his eyes, but the detective is hovering just a little closer, “He sent back the Red Robin suit, then somehow gets himself in a coma? Dunno ‘bout chu, but this don’t seem like a co-inky-dink, you feel me here, B?”
“Master Timothy…always has a plan,” Alfred shoots them a look, one brow arched. “Regardless of how he received such a grievous injury, it would not surprise me if this package perchance has been waiting to be sent for quite some time. Well, if the date on the stamp is any indication.”
And another mystery to unravel in the story leading them up to one former Robin currently in critical condition.
“Been waiting fer the right time or some shit, Alf, and alla rest is just universal bad timing? I don’t buy it.” Jason’s eyes are drawn to the suit laying over B’s lap, “we know he wasn’t working a case. No baddies had ‘im, no team ups, nuthin’. No reason someone made him send it.”
“You’re right. This was Tim’s call to send it. His handwriting on the note, postage from Midtown Gotham where we believe his apartment is, no trace of tampering with his systems…”
“So,” Jay starts slowly, “Baby Bird is trying ta feel out another name, one what ain’t gotta history?”
“Don’t tell Dick about the note,” B says absently instead of answering, already aware how much his oldest blames himself for Tim pretty much leaving the Manor.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make ‘im feel like more of a shit head. And what ‘bout Timmy?”
“We need more evidence, dear boy.” Alfred, in a moment of leisure, drank his own tea, eyes for the packaging while he thought.
“Agreed,” Bruce takes up the suit and the note. “Once Victor cracks his systems and nav, we’ll have more to go on.”
“Dunno why ya just don’t pull a fuckin’ Dark Knight n’ take the League ta the Tower.”
“Clark would never be okay with that.”
“He’d still do it if’n ya asked.”
“Probably, but it’s not a precedent we can set. The Titans are autonomous, which means I can’t just demand they let me in unless it’s possibly world-ending. The JLA might back me because it’s Tim, but…”
“I getcha. S’ not an easy sitch,” Jay shakes his head a little, glad he doesn’t have to put up with the fucking politics dealing with a team like the Justice League. S'why he enjoyed working with first Kory and Roy, then Artemis and Biz. All of them make the hardest part fighting dirt bags fun without politics.
“It just means I have to be sneakier than normal.”
“World better look out. Batman’s on the warpath."
"One of my kids is in a coma,” he sighs as it comes out, “I went off the deep-end when it was Dick, and then when it was you, and then Damian…because all of you are my sons. Contrary to popular belief, I love all of you equally. I don’t have a favorite, Jaylad.”
Jay looks away, shakes his head with a little smirk on his face, “simmer down, BatDad. ‘Least we know his people won’t let nothing happen ta ‘im.”
“I’ve known those kids for years. They won’t compromise him just to keep me out of it,” and Bruce knows it, knows if he keeps his ear close enough to the ground, he’s going to find more answers, “If it’s too much for them to handle, they’re going to call someone else in.”
“And I trust you will be waiting for if they do, Sir.”
“Always have a plan, Alfred.”
“Very good, then. In the meantime, I shall attempt to teach Master Damian the more intricate uses of Geometry and then tackle the blood stain on Master Dick’s shirts. Hopefully at least one of those tasks should prove successful.” With that cheeky rejoiner, the butler takes the empty teapot and tray, moves with purpose as the rest of the household must keep sallying forth. As always, when Master Bruce gets distracted, Alfred strives to pick-up the slack around the Manor.
After the butler leaves with his own plan, Bruce’s eyes flutter back over the paperwork and the key attached to a standard, plastic fob labeled with Tim’s own handwriting. His thumb absently rubs over one of the worn spots.
“Least Alf’s got it t’gether. How ‘bout chu, B? Whadda the next steps?”
Looking up at that raised brow, this man overlaid with his teenage brawler, his bibliophile, his poet, Bruce doesn’t realize he’s smiling that gentle smile when he shakes his head fondly.
But his eyes fall back down to the sheaf of papers and key.
“First thing, I need to run some analysis on this suit, find out if there’s anything to indicate it might not have come from Tim. Or, find definitive proof it is from him, not one of his enemies. There could be trace elements to tell me what he was doing before he sent it, possibly lead up to whoever put him in a coma.”
“S’ a good plan. If this ‘un is the last suit he wore, might gedda better idea why he sent it back,” and the way Jay’s eyes darken when he gazes over the suit, looks away with the guilt written all over his face.
“Well, since you’re here, you might as well help out. Maybe you want to run the spectro analyzer this time, huh?”
“Why Batsy, I thought ya’d never ask,” that grin, the little hop off his desk, right foot still kicking off, is enough motivation to get Bruce moving.
He folds the suit gently in half, scoops up the key and paperwork he will eventually get around to reading more closely (probably after the analysis on the paper composition and fingerprinting). Jay has the harness and utility belt back in the box, the thing tucked under his arm while he waits.
And it’s a whole different Dynamic Duo taking the stairs down to the Cave,making a plan together, and it’s easier than either would have thought possible.
**
“Follow my finger please,” Epione, Chief Healer to the Amazons, requests the young man in the bed before her.
“I don’t know how you managed to pull this off,” Kon is leaning toward Cassie, talking to her out of the side of his mouth, “but you? Are literally the best ever.”
With a sigh, she watches Tim follow orders. He responds to her questions, and allows Epione to unwind the bandage around his head to check the wound.
“You’re the one that didn’t want me calling Leslie Thompkins, remember? This is the best I could do on short notice. Luckily, Epione was willing to leave the island for an emergency.”
“Will she tell Queen Hippolyta? Or Diana?” Bart doesn’t look away from Tim, can’t seem to make himself since Kon told them the truth.
“If the Queen orders her, then yes, she will. She’s a loyal subject,” Cassie shrugs, “but again, best I could do last minute. Kon was right after all, if we didn’t want to tip off Batman, we couldn’t bring Dr. Thompkins here.”
“We’ll have to take the chance. Besides, we might get lucky if Epione can do whatever hand-wavy magic she can do and tell us more about his memory loss than an ordinary doctor.”
“She has hundreds of years of experience and literal Gods on her side, Kon. She’s a warrior and a healer, not a Magic-8 Ball.”
“At this point, we’ll take whatever help she can offer.” Gar interjects, arms crossed tightly over his chest while he watches.
His heart breaks a little when Tim catches them watching on the other side of the glass in the viewing room and waves with a small smile while Epione gently touches his injury. Raven knowingly lays a hand at the small of his back in support, still wondering if they’re doing the right thing by keeping Dick in the dark about all of it.
“When he came back in that cowl, he was…different. More than just dark, you know? I think the whole thing, everyone dying, losing Robin, all of it pretty much broke him, and that’s why he tried…he…”
“Kon, what are you trying to tell us?” She remembers the tight knot of anxiety in her chest, trying to dismiss what she believes to be impossible. Not Tim, not one of the more level-headed Robins.
“He had a gun,” and the half-Kryptonian’s shoulders shake, his eyes spilling over, “he-he had a gun and told me to leave him there, to walk away, like I could just leave him to do it! But I wasn’t-I wasn’t fast enough and he fired–”
The strangled noise out of Bart matches the look of horror on his face, “he tried to kill himself?”
“If I hadn’t heard his heart speed up, I would have been too late,” and Kon’s knees go out, his immense strength not keeping him from sinking down to the floor while his chest hitches.
Cassie’s mouth opens, but no sounds come out. Her eyes go to the still boy in the bed while Gar, Bart, and Raven crowd around Kon because he finally breaks down…
“Agreed,” Raven sighs, “I believe Epione will be able to give us a better understanding of Tim’s condition. Then, we may better be able to–” she pauses before she says make decisions he would want“–help.”
Kon’s jaw tightens, his shoulders bunching under his t-shirt, “I can’t believe you still want to tell the Bats after what they did. Don’t you get it? They drove him to this, Rachel.”
“Not on purpose, Kon,” Raven argues gently.
“Grayson maybe,” Bart doesn’t look at any of them, “but I don’t want him anywhere near the newest Robin. B and Dick, fine, but Damian? Jason Todd? We can’t let him go back to Gotham with those two ready to try again.”
“That’s logical,” Kon agrees with his jaw tight, “I’m still not on board with Grayson getting a second chance. Him? He’s probably Tim’s jumping off point, so fuck that guy.”
Cassie takes a moment, listening to the talk, watching Epione talk to Tim during her assessment. She gently leads their Robin to lie back, helping him lift his feet back on the medical bed. Her hands aren’t glowing or anything, but Cassie can still feel the warm ebb and flow of power from behind the glass when Tim closes his eyes, and Epione lays her hands over them.
“C’mon, dude!” Gar is looking at the super helplessly, “I get how upset you are, ‘kay? Like, I totally get you. If I had been the one to walk in on my best friend about to shoot himself, I would be pretty screwed up about it, too. But Kon, bro, you know Dick would never want Tim hurt, not for anything. They’re brothers, have been for, like, years, man. He’s put himself in danger for Tim a hundred times. The Bats have a credo all their own!”
Bart’s head swivels, eyes narrowing, “sure, sure, G. But, it was pretty easy for that to change once Tim wasn’t Robin anymore, right? Maybe Grayson only gives a fuck about whoever is wearing the tunic at the time. I mean, look at how well their brotherly bond turned out for Tim and Jason Todd.”
Garfield and Rachel both look like they’ve been struck, “dude, that’s so far beyond fucked up–”
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Bart shrugs, unrepentant. “I’m fine with Plan C, which is to take Tim to a safe house far away from everyone and let him figure out the truth as much as he can before he can make a decision to go anywhere. He’s sure as hell not putting on a cape anytime soon.”
“We’re only going to be able to hold off the Batman for so long,” Cassie interjects. “Gar’s family technically owning the Tower is a flimsy excuse at best, but I didn’t have time for a better bluff. Still, he’s going to find a way to get to Tim whether we want it or not. That is, if we don’t at least tell him what’s going on.”
Kon’s sigh is irritated at best.
“Kon,” she stresses, finally looking away from Tim, “it’s Batman. The best we can do is delay him because we’re certainly not going to stop him. The best thing we can do is try to control what he knows.”
“What is your suggestion?” Raven asks quietly.
“We talk to him. Just him. He has to leave all the former Robins out of it. We tell him what we know so far, that Kon found Tim injured and brought him to the Tower. That we didn’t contact him for the exact reasons we gave them on the last call. That Tim has woken up, his vitals are good, his injury is healing, that we’ve contacted experienced medical assistance,” she waves a vague hand toward Epione bending over their friend, “and that we’re very sure he wouldn’t want to return to Gotham after apparently feeling so far left out of the family, none of them even knew where he was.”
Bart’s epic frown is enough of an answer.
“I know,” Cassie placates quietly, “but, he was lost in time when everything went down, so as far as I’m concerned, Batman is the person that deserves to know what happened. Damian, Dick, and Jason pushed Tim to–” she swallows, blinks rapidly to dispel the moisture in her eyes, “–to try ending his life. So, I don’t give a shit about them. Bruce, though…Bruce probably still cares.”
Cassie looks from Bart and Kon to Raven and Garfield, “so, we’re going to compromise. Kon, Bart, if we don’t go to someone in Gotham, Rave and Gar are probably going to go to Dick whether Tim would want that or not. Rave, Gar, if you go to Dick and he shows up here, Bart and Kon will probably take Tim out of the Tower to who knows where. We want to avoid our Robin getting hurt, so we’re going to go to B. That’s the compromise.”
For long moments, the four regard her silently, considering the plan.
“Guys?”
Tim’s voice through the intercom gains immediate attention.
Epione is gathering her things, so the assessment is apparently over.
“It’s time we talk.” And the slight bite to his tone, the old vigilante they all knew and loved, the guy that was on fucking top of his game when he was in the red, gold, and green, is there in an older, more beaten, more broken body.
Giving up the ghost, Kon and Bart visibly steel themselves. Raven and Gar squeeze hands, bringing up the rear while Cassie stays where she stands, looking at him with her heart in her throat and her instincts rising to the fore.
Still, someone has to call Batman, and that someone is going to be her.
**
“You will recover fully,” Epione tells him after she’s touched his forehead and done something to make his head stop aching so badly. “Of this, I am positive. How quickly is up to you, I’m afraid. I cannot give you a specific timeline.”
The Amazon squeezes his wrist, her smile sympathetic. “An injury such as this will take time.”
“My memory will come back eventually?” Because just laying back like this is starting to get old. Seriously.
When she visibly hesitates, a sharp spike of oh shit shoots up his spine.
“Tim…”
“Tell me. Whatever you’re going to say, is that why they’re–” and he motions with a turn of his chin to the directions of the blacked out observation window “–out there having a conversation?”
Because just by the look on their faces when they filed out the door on Epione’s order, he knows they’re talking about him, about this, about what decisions they think they’re going to make for him.
Yeah, no. That’s not how it works.
He’s Rob, remember? Guy with the plans?
“I believe,” Epione is hesitant, glancing toward the darkened glass, “they are divided on how best to handle what you should be told. However, that is only my guess.”
He hums, eyes sliding from the glass and back to her, “and my memory?”
Her eyes crinkle at the edges, “if you truly desire to remember, Tim, then you shall. Whether or not you regain those lost years is purely up to you, and no other. Medicine cannot give it to you.”
Well, if that’s how it’s got to be, maybe he got hit with some alien ray gun or a magic spell / curse?
(Not that it’s something unexpected. Those Young Justice days were packed.)
“Okay, then all I can do for now is heal and do my best to remember,” he fills in for her benefit because honestly, he’s a busy vigilante. Who has time to wait around?
(He still has boxes to unpack now that’s he back in the Manor. Then, he’s got to find Cassandra after he brought David Cain to the oil field in what he thought was saving her from the League of Assassins just to find out she’s leading the League of Assassins…)
“Somehow, I don’t believe you will actually do that,” Epione muses, gathering her things, which pretty much consisted of herbs, mortar and pestle, and a whole lot of Amazon awesomeness.
He grins a little, “I don’t know. My best friends are alive, so I’m probably not going far from the Tower for a while. Batman will have to protect Gotham without me for a while.”
Yeah, but he really needs to check-in at least. Is pretty surprised he hasn’t had a visitor slip in through some flaw in their security. Wonders if his adoption paperwork has gone through yet, if it’s really okay to start calling himself Tim Drake-Wayne now or not.
Epione’s expression changes, just a little, a tiny bit, not enough to really mean anything. But, welp, he’s a pretty good detective at this point in the vigilante game.
His eyes slide subtly back to his teammates talking animatedly outside the room, makes a note to get to a workstation later when they left him alone for at least five minutes, check the footage out and see what the fuss is about. Somehow, this feels more grave than just him getting hurt during a fight that he totally has no memory of, or any trip to Titan’s Tower in the last year.
“It would be the most beneficial for you,” Epione starts slowly, “to do what is most comfortable. Be where you feel safe and secure. That will be crucial in recovering your memory.”
Tim’s eyes slowly go back to her, “where I’m most comfortable, huh?”
She slings her bag over her shoulder, “yes. If you need anything, even to…talk, please come to Paradise Island. We may not be fully integrated with the outside world, but you would be welcome there. Do you understand, Tim?”
And for some reason, the way she offers makes his stomach clench with some impending dread.
“I will, thank-you again.”
She turns and his eyes are all for the huddled group now looking contrite at their feet while Cassie speaks, crosses her arms over her chest, expression grim.
Tim reaches for the intercom button close to the medi-bed, “Guys?” Before they turn back to the observation window, Tim’s eyes slide up to the vent above the door in consideration. He shakes it out because first thing is first: he need to enough evidence to make a plan.
“It’s time we talk.”
**
“This is Oracle.”
Bruce Wayne pulls the Batsuit on in a familiar progression. Armored bodysuit and boots, utility belt and sundries, gloves and gauntlets.
He’s alone in the Cave for the moment, his mind working all the evidence.
Earlier this evening, he, Jay, and Damian made their way to the outskirts of Gotham to a storage facility and took a look inside a specific locker, the one with the key delivered to him from who is legitimately Tim’s lawyer.
(And the gut feeling, the impending somethingbadawfulhorrible is waiting on the other side of this, is only overshadowed by the slowly mounting evidence his detective brain is putting together. None of it is good. This? This is all preparation for something, like Tim completing some kind of bucket list.)
Once he’d taken a moment to do more than skim over the introductory letter and following paperwork, a stab of dread knotted up in his chest, something palpable enough for Jason to grab his elbow and steady him while he read.
The well thought-out plan on infiltrating Titan’s Towers to set-up their own brand of surveillance along with the long, long list of known affiliates for all the members of the Titans, Jay’s brilliant work, waylayed when Bruce realized what it is exactly he’s holding.
Mr. Wayne,
The following documents in your possession have been sent under the stipulation that Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, your adopted son, has been out of contact with my office for over 30 days.
While I would not normally have a time-specific task like this on my agenda, Mr. Drake-Wayne was very adamant these documents must be sent if I had not heard from him in a month’s time. The importance of the Wayne Enterprise stock ownership is crucial enough for me to send them to you for safeguarding as instructed.
The key included is to a storage locker by Dixon Docks. You will find the address and locker number enclosed. If you have any further questions, please feel free to contact me at your convenience.
As the legal counsel stated, Bruce is holding several signed, witnessed, notarized sheets of paper returning the controlling stock in Wayne Enterprises back to him, Tim’s signature like a slash across the page. With this, the board would side with him becoming the CEO again.
(Dammit.)
The worrying factor that drives him to call the lawyer, handing the papers and key over to Jay, is the fact Tim’s been out-of-contact for a month. A quick call to Tam Fox verifies that theory.
This is more than Tim changing his name, giving Jay the Red Robin suit before he’s suddenly comatose in Titan’s Tower.
This is something terrifyingly more permanent.
Jason had been pragmatic about it, grabbing B’s hand and hauling both of the back up the winding staircase into the Manor proper while the analysis on the suit still ran and samples were being reviewed.
“Alf! We’re going onna ride. Gotta check out some storage locker by th’ docks, west side ‘a the city.”
Damian literally appears out of nowhere, holding a half-eaten veggie wrap, calmly watching their progression from the kitchen doorway.
“Why are we going to a storage locker now? Should this not wait until night?”
“This ain’t a Dynamic Duo moment, Demon,” Jason breezes right past the kid, “knowin’ you, it ain’t gonna be yer cuppa tea anyhow.”
Those eyes narrow as Damian follows them to the garage, taking his last few bites. “If you do not better explain, I will accompany you regardless.”
“Well. Shotgun, fucker. Get cha ass in gear.”
Damian pauses, mouth open in shock. He hadn’t expected Todd to acquiesce but covers it up by lifting his chin and snatching his jacket on the way out.
**
The key fits in a standard Masterlock.
Disappointed, the vigilantes eye all around the storage facility, finding two fake security cameras, and an in case of emergency, call someone who cares sticker by the policy listing.
The door slides up with the weakest push, no reinforcements, very not Tim’s usual brand of paranoia.
Bruce grabs the first box that catches his eye, one that has something scrawled on the side.
He nearly chokes when he removes the lid, and it’s all kinds of red and black – the suit the color of Tim’s grief. But, the shuriken R glints in the daylight, a reminder.
“Oh,” Bruce breathes out, that terrible knot in his chest getting tighter.
None of it got any better.
The storage unit is full of old files, Tim’s hardcopies of things. Some boxes have post-it notes in Tim’s terrible scrawl, short and sweet–
Burn this box
You might need these
Give to the Titans
Old Bludhaven Records for N
Pictures Burn this
Legal
In less than an hour, Bruce finds himself on his knees beside two boxes, pulling out intimate pieces of Tim’s life, holding them in his hands, looking down at the very few candid shots of him in the red, gold, and green, standing with his arms around Impulse and Superboy, back when he was with Young Justice. Him making goofy faces with Nightwing over his shoulder against the backdrop of Gotham. B recognizes it as the Wallstone Apartments.
He cracks open one of the Burn this boxes and comes face-to-face with Jack and Janet Drake’s wedding album.
Jay sets up real cameras while Damian quietly puts a few necessary boxes in the trunk of the car. B stands outside the storage unit talking to Alfred on his mobile, his tone clipped and precise. They would come back tomorrow after patrol was over with a truck and empty the damn thing. There was plenty of storage for all of it in the Manor where it could be safe. Nothing, nothing was to be burned or thrown away. These were Tim’s things, and one day, he’d need them again.
(Or so Bruce fervently hopes.)
The three of them are quiet on the drive back, thinking deeply about the life packed in boxes and stuffed in bags. The busted old utility belts and torn capes, the pictures from the streets below, blobs that could be the Dynamic Duo of yesterday, before Tim ever stepped into the boots. The ticket stubs from important movies, a set of keys to the carriage house. R decals that were the same ones B himself put on the fender of the Red Bird.
Suiting up after seeing all that, Bruce Wayne has to dig deep to pull up the Batman before the cowl goes on.
Luckily, O is the one that interrupts his night.
“This is Oracle.”
“I’m here. What’s on for tonight?” The deep growl isn’t quite there yet, and there’s an obvious pause like Barbara notices.
“You’ve got a call actually. It’s Wonder Girl from Titan’s Tower.”
That gains his attention because she must be calling to tell him Tim’s awake, and hopefully, maybe asked his team to let them back in Gotham know he was okay.
“Understood. Put her through.”
“You got it, boss. Call me back when you hit Mid-Town.”
The click is minute as he’s pulling on gloves and gauntlets, surprised when the camera on the big computer flashes red in warning.
He approves the request, and Cassie Sandsmark appears on his screen, looking wrung-out, quiet and sad. His heart almost stops, stuttering in his chest painfully.
“Wonder Girl, how is he?”
When she notices her screen, she visibly perks up a little, looking around the Batcave as if to make sure he’s the only one in the frame.
“He’s…awake. Disoriented.”
“Let me talk to him.”
“I promised the team I would talk to you on neutral terms first,” she sits up straighter, looking up at the camera instead of at her screen. “And not with your other partners around. Is it just us?”
This is not boding well, and he immediately starts ticking off, “Nightwing and Robin are heading to the docks to check out tonight’s drop. Red Hood is at the Narrows on patrol. Black Bat is in Hong Kong. Batgirl and Signal are heading to investigate a cold call on the police line.”
With that, B pulls up a chair and slides the cowl away from his face, becoming Bruce again just that fast. “It’s just us, Cassie. Tell me what happened to Tim.”
She seems to steel herself a little, “So…so, I just found this out, and I think you should know. Before this, Tim hasn’t been back to the Tower as a member of the team since he was Robin, he hasn’t been on the roster since he took up the new name. I thought he needed space, so I was okay letting him do his thing as Red Robin. A few days ago, Kon found him and brought him to the Tower to treat his injury. That’s how he got here. The reason Kon brought him here instead of to Gotham is because the injury appears to be… self-inflicted.”
She pauses, gives him a moment to let that sink in, “the majority of us agree it’s very likely because of the last two years. Tim’s gone through…a lot, and most of it came after Dick Grayson fired him. So, we aren’t convinced coming back to Gotham would help him recover. In fact, Bart and Kon are sure it could even hinder his recovery, and none of us want that.”
Bruce feels frozen to his chair, feels something bitter and cold when he thinks of the suit sent to Jay, the locker full of boxes already labeled, the important things that meant nothing more than ashes. And it’s too much evidence glaring him in the face, saying your son tried to commit suicide for him not to feel anything but immediately sick.
“Cassie, he–”
“I argued for just telling you because someone there should know,” her tone is wavery and she suddenly looks away from the camera, rapidly blinking. “Raven and Gar wanted to tell Dick, but Bart and Kon…are Bart and Kon. If Dick shows up here anytime in the near future–”
“They’re going to take him and disappear,” because with this information, his whole world is suddenly tilted, disoriented.
“Yes,” she fills in softly, “same with Damian and Jason. They’ve tried to kill him more than once, and we aren’t going to give them another shot. I don’t care if you say they’re part of the family now, or if Dick says Damian has calmed down the whole murder vibe. They helped push Tim to-to…” she looks away from the camera, blinking rapidly, clearly shaken. “S-so we aren’t letting them near him, or Jason or Dick. Not until– not for a while, anyway.”
(Cassie closes her mouth with a sharp clack because she’d almost said, not until he can defend himself against them. The real bitch is, Tim probably could even as he is now, but he wouldn’t know why he’d need to, even with Jason Todd…)
“I understand. I don’t…agree, but I understand,” and Bruce’s heart aches with it, with how shuttered Jay’s expression will turn once he learns why Tim won’t be coming back to the Manor for his recuperation, how Dami will tt, but will be silent and sad, will snap at him and Dick and Alfred for days.
(Because his youngest still hasn’t figured out how to navigate the depths of his emotions, still can’t explain or show it then things hurt him. They’ve come so far this last year, but still miles to go.)
“Thank-you,” and when the current leader of the Titans looks back up at him, Bruce can’t help but pick up on the visible ticks.
“There’s more you aren’t telling me.” Is an absolute statement.
Her eyes move away, another tell. “Yes.”
“Anything you can tell me now?”
“…not on an open line.”
“Then at least let me, just me, maybe Alfred, come see him. Cassie, please.”
And in the Tower, having this little discussion with a very scary vigilante that looks more approachable without the cowl, that looks just like her mom had when she found out Cassie found the jackpot of superpowers, Wonder Girl can’t help but give in.
Her sigh is deep enough to lift her chest, “Okay. Okay, only you. The Tower is on lock-down for anyone else.”
The Caped Crusader feels relief literally down to his boots, “thank-you. When?”
“Give me a day or so at least. We’ve got someone here looking over Tim’s injury, so two days max, and you can see him.”
“Perfect,” and B is already making plans. After patrol tonight, he’s throwing things together and riding up to his safehouse in San Francisco. He’s going to take the boys aside and explain how it is, make sure they’ve got the city before he’s off. “I should be in San Francisco in the morning. You can use Tim’s phone to call my cell.”
She blinks at him delicately and the turn of her smile looks slightly bitter, “yeah, we checked them already. All four of his phones. Believe me when I say he doesn’t have your cell number in any of them. And, unfortunately, I don’t have permission to call the Bat Cave through our systems. Why do you think I went through Oracle to contact you?”
“Oh,” is all Bruce can think to say. None of them?
Suddenly, seeing Tim is more of a priority.
**
Breaking into his nest in Titan’s Tower proves there’s definitely something off because he knows where all the pressure traps are in the vents, crawling his way here is a blaring alarm that something is up. A bunch of his traps are gone, and there’s only one that doesn’t look like it’s been there for a while.
Tim gives himself about eight minutes before Bart comes back from the bathroom and finds him gone from the Med-Bay, but Tim has already deduced there’s something the team isn’t telling him, so he’s going to figure it out for himself.
(He asked for his celly last night after Epione left, but Bart said it got dusted against the last baddie. And he doesn’t already have another? Do they even knowhim?)
Considering some of the crazy baddies they’ve come across in their time as Young Justice and now as the new Titans team, he wouldn’t be shocked if some mind-controlling jerk hijacked everyone’s higher brain functions for a while. So, in the interest of good crime fighting, he’s going to do his research with or without team approval.
His system takes way, way too long to boot-up, and while he’s waiting, he scopes out the Nest for more clues. He’s got no idea where the wine coolers in the fridge came from and has to hack around for a while to get the new code to his door. The bed is stripped bare and the whole place, his living area, kitchen, bedroom, workshop, all of it…isn’t marked.
Someone had removed all the R tags from his things.
His hidden niche in the closet is completely empty, all his extra Robin suits are just gone. The places for extra utility belts, red under suits, reinforced tights, all of it is…gone.
He has a moment of panic, but pops up a section of floor deeper in the closet. Luckily, he gets one of his OG suits, red, gold, and green for the win.
(It’s even more emotional because Kon is back, Bart is back, Steph is back, so he can toss the red and black R, can go back to the original him. He can go back to the best times of his life–)
The tights fit but are too…short? Covered up by his boots and it’s fine. The tunic is snug enough to tell him the suit is really old because there’s no way he could have filled out this much and gotten two extra inches since the last time he wore this one.
(But, it’s been almost six months since Dad died, since Kon was gone, and the phone fell out of his hands with the news of Bart. Six months and the world went to absolute shit. The mistake between him and Cassie, almost putting DNA in a damn Lazarus Pit but luckily, Dick pulled him back to sanity before he could do something he’d never be able to take back.)
His utility belt doesn’t fit, and he’s tisking at himself when he’s in the workshop to quickly add two more sections before it goes around his waist. It takes some time to ignore the pull in his shoulders, but he eventually makes it back to his system, surprised no one’s pounding on the door yet.
The burner phones are still in a drawer below empty blast caps, and he turns one on to warm up while he works.
It takes probably a minute longer than he’d like, to get the belt ready and slap on a domino, feel more like he can take whatever is going on out there. But when he stands up again, cape at his ankles, he feels like Robin.
His system bings with notifications and he moves out of the workshop, boots making soft noises on the carpet. He passes the pictures of the Young Justice team, the Titans team before everything crashed hard, even one of him standing by the memorial to the second Robin, Jason Todd.
(You know, before he crashed the Tower and tried to slit Tim’s throat. Not like he’s bitter about it. Not. At. All.)
He sees how many updates he needs to run with wide eyes behind the whiteout, but the final piece is when he catches the date in the upper left-hand corner, and all his plans go right out the window.
But fear not, the Zine will still be available for 3 months! But waste no time getting it so you can enjoy every single art and stories that were written exclusively for this charity project!
“Every writer is a frustrated actor who recites his lines in the hidden auditorium of his skull.”
―Rod Serling
Hello Salers! This week’s spotlight features a collaborative project by @opheliawillowbrookand@esme0013 based on Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window.As well as a retelling of Shakespeare’s romantic ComedyThe Taming of the Shrew written by Ophelia Willow-Brook.
For more of their work, follow them in the links below
